jumped trees and rail barricades, pouring down in an assault wave not to
be turned aside. The Yankee gun, its eight-horse team, men who stood now
with their hands high, horses for riders who were no longer to need
them. Three hundred of those horses from the lines behind the dismounted
skirmishers--far more valuable than any inanimate treasure to men who
had lost mounts--one hundred and fifty prisoners.

Kirby rode back from the eddy in the road, his mouth a wide grin
splitting his skin-and-bone face. He had a length of heavy blue cloth
across the saddle before him and was smoothing it lovingly with one
chilblained hand.

"Got me one of them theah overcoats," he announced. "Sure fine, like to
thank General Wilson for it personal. If I could git me in ropin'
distance of him to do that."

The small success of the venture was not a complete victory. His
dismounted cavalry overrun or thrust back, Wilson brought up infantry,
and they settled down to a dogged attack on the entrenched Confederates
on the ridges.

Union forces bored in steadily, slamming the weight of regiments against
the flanks of the defenders. And slowly but inexorably, that turning
movement pushed the Confederates in and back. Drew, riding courier,
brought up to the ridge where Forrest sat on the big gray King Phillip,
statue-still, immovable.

"General, suh, the enemy is in our rear--"

Forrest turned his head abruptly, the statue coming to life. And there
was impatience in the answer which was certainly meant for all the
doubters at large and not to one sergeant of scouts relaying a message.

"Well, ain't we in theirs?"

General Armstrong, his men out of ammunition, made his own plea to fall
back. But the orders were to hold. Hood was at Sugar Creek with the
army; he must have time to cross. It was late afternoon when Forrest at
last ordered the withdrawal, and they made it in an orderly fashion.

Through the night the rear guard toiled on and a little after midnight
they reached the Sugar in their turn. Drew splashed cold water on his
face, not only to keep awake, but to rinse off the mud and grime of days
of riding and fighting. He could not remember when he had had his
clothes off, had bathed or worn a clean shirt. Now he smeared his jacket
sleeve across his face in place of a towel and tramped wearily back to
the fire where his own small squad had settled in for what rest they
could get.

Croff was sniffing the air, hound fashion.

"Ai